It was the winter solstice

Aneurysm by Kate Clanchy

When my father heard his friend 
was dead, we sat a while and talked
of traffic: how cars clog
each by-way now, every road
you think you know.  We were quiet,
and I lit the lamp.  I thought

I could hear the cars outside,
bashing, lowing, rank on rank.
There'd been a crash, my father said,
and his friend had walked out,
shaken, saved.  It was hours
before the blood-clot got him.

I held my son on my lap.  It was
dark, it was the winter solstice.
We said there is no such thing
as the right route or a clear passage
no matter where you start,
or how you plan it. 

Comments

[davyh]

So I'm appreciating the high-kicking girls on your tree while I can x

[Greer]

that's the spirit x

wouldn't be Christmas without the Rockettes